


She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak

by sagiow



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Polar Vortex, Valentine's Day, dinner in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagiow/pseuds/sagiow
Summary: Despite the cold, Emma had the perfect Valentine's Day dinner planned
Relationships: Emma Green/Henry Hopkins
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak

“Emma?”

From the cushionned comfort of a fading, faraway dream, the gentle voice brought her back. Before her eyelids lazily lifted, she felt the weight of the handmade quilt on her shoulder, the softness of the pillow under her cheek, and had no wish to move; but when her eyes finally did open, taking in the darkened room, the fire that had dimmed to a smoulder, she sat up straight in shock.

“Oh, goodness me! What time is it?” she cried.

“Just about six,” Henry answered, still in his university best, sitting by her side on the bed with a box in his lap. “Emma, are you alright?”

“Six?! No, I am most absolutely not! I only... oh hell, the roast!”

“It’s fine, I just took it out. Perhaps a bit toasty... to go with your language,” he added with a smirk.

She cringed as she struggled to kick out of the many blankets. “But the gravy, and potatoes, and biscuits...! None are done. This is a disaster.”

“It’s just food.”

“No it’s not!” she insisted, frowning at him as she finally managed to swing her skirts over the edge of the bed. “It’s Valentine’s Day, and I made a complete mess of it.” He was about to interrupt her again but she continued, her head hung dejectedly. “It was so cold in the house, with this ungodly weather we’ve been having all week. I put the roast in, and came in here to grab another shawl and stoke the fire, but then I saw the bed, with all its inviting blankets, and suddenly got very tired, and thought surely I could take a quick rest and still be up with plenty of time to fix the rest of dinner, set a nice table, decant that bottle of fine claret you received from Jed last Christmas... but I slept for hours instead! I am so sorry Henry!”

Henry looked at his distraught wife, stifled a laugh, and wrapped his arm around her. “Emma, angel... again, it’s just food. And the roast looks delicious, with or without potatoes. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, in your condition, in this ungodly weather, as you are right to call it; it is brutal, even for an dodgy old Yankee like me! That you are willing to brave it to be my wife remains the only present you should ever gift me.” 

His hand drifted to caress her growing belly. “And that you are stubborn enough to still think I need any more Valentine’s Day celebration than seeing you as warm and content as this little tyrant will allow you, is endearing nonsense. So here’s what we’ll do: while you try a few of these,” he said as he handed her the heart-shaped box, “I’ll get the fire roaring, the roast cut, smothered in mustard and stacked high into sandwiches, and brew us a large pot of scalding black tea, and we can have dinner here, warm and cozy as can be.”

At the pleasant picture his response painted, she relaxed in relief, and nestled closer against him. “That sounds wonderful, and chocolates! Simply heavenly. Thank you,” she said, her fingers tracing the red ribbon, and moving to graze the skin at his wrist, inching under the starched cuff. “Although I’m not sure how cozy you will be able to be in those stiff, austere clothes, Professor...”

The look in her uplifted face, her darkened, playful eyes, the curve in her lips that was begging to be kissed, made him all the happier for the failed formal dinner plans. “Quite right, my dove. Although the thought of removing as little as one sock is in this weather is quite prohibitive... and you should probably eat something before -ahem- anything else.”

“Over a year married, a baby on the way, and you’re still hopelessly stalling on me, Henry Hopkins!” she laughed in disbelief as she pushed him up. “Now go toss a log on the fire, take that suit off and get back in bed; I promise your dainty toes won’t feel the cold, and that your unborn child and I only need your love to thrive... and maybe some chocolate.”

And with that mixture of bemusement and awe he still felt, over a year married and a baby on the way later, Henry was glad to let the roast grow cold and oblige his wife. Their midnight meal was all the better for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Nirvana's "Heart-Shaped Box" but don't analyse it any further. Inspiration from the beyond bitter cold of the last week and pregnancy sleep bombs that drop on you when least convenient
> 
> For the Valentine's Day Tumblr prompt, thanks to @middlemarch


End file.
